Laundry Redux
by mariu100
Summary: New Year's Eve. Booth and Brennan. Laundry room. You know what comes next.


_Don't know who's around to read this today, but if you are, hope your headache's not too bad, and have a whopping great New Year! As with all M ratings, caution is advised. If the sights (and sounds) of Booth and Brennan going at it aren't to your liking, carry on in more appropriate categories._

"Shhh...shhh. Bones!"

Booth's slurred exhortations fell on deaf ears as his partner continued chortling uncontrollably at his ill-fated attempts to hold on to his keys. They'd fallen out on the floor of the cab as-hampered by the tight space-he dug clumsily into his pants for his wallet, on the walkway of their home as he tried to shore up his not-so-steady wife, and yet again as he fumbled for the right key that would allow them to entry into the house where, hopefully, they could sneak off to bed unseen and unheard.

"That's so very funny, Booth" Brennan said, tears of laughter running down her cheeks, "because normally you are so superbly coordinated, and now you're a" she paused in her search for the right expression. "A clutz" she blurted out, bending over with laughter again, quite obviously taken by the novelty of the word.

"A _clutz_," she repeated, laughing so hard this time around that she began to snort.

"Hey, opening the door here," he replied, all the mirth at his expense suddenly starting to get under his well-liquored skin. "And don't wake up the kids" he grumbled, when the key finally went in.

Booth cringed at the possibility that they might have to deal with their rambunctious little angels at 2:00 in the morning, when all he wanted to do was throw himself on their bed dressed as he was and pass out until the sun rose.

_I'm getting too old for this_, he thought. Twenties, thirties, all good, when recovery before noon the next day came with an iron-clad guarantee from your liver. But now he no longer had the luxury of staying in bed nursing a hangover the next morning because there were two-well, three-if he counted his otherwise capable but breakfast-challenged wife-others to feed in the a.m. These days hangovers instilled real, cold fear in his heart, bouts of deadly bubonic plague about to be unleashed on a merry and clueless population.

The old body just didn't bounce back like it used to, and damn, it sure let you know when you hadn't treated it with kindness.

"Okay, okay" Brennan said with an exaggerated pout. She half-heartedly humored him by lowering her voice by a few decibels. _So touchy_, she thought; and in his form-fitting dress jeans and charcoal gray shirt-so incredibly, deliciously attractive_._ She was still shamelessly ogling the way her husband's shirt clung to his sculpted biceps when the door suddenly swung open and she flew headfirst into their hallway. Booth caught her arm just in time, his quick response preventing her from landing face down on the floor.

"Who's the clutz now?" he taunted.

"Not you."

The giggling suddenly stopped, its place taken by a wild, very ominous look that sent Booth's heart racing. One of Brennan's hands went to the top of the gray shirt, and she pressed down gently on the hollow just beneath his throat with her index finger.

The finger slid towards the top button and her thumb joined in, just as anxious as the rest of its owner to see some more skin.

"Bones...the kids..."

"Are asleep-it's very late. And if they're not, they should be."

"But your dad probably isn't."

He pushed her gently away while quietly calling out "Max?" into the living room.

"No Max there" she said, tossing her head around with a careless grin. Booth's longing eyes settled on the sharp v of her low-cut black sweater while her fingers silently went back to business.

The two top buttons came undone. He grabbed her hand gently, removing it from his shirt before there was any more damage to his wardrobe.

"Upstairs, Bones."

"No, not upstairs. Here" she purred.

He licked his lips.

"You know what we both need?"

"Vigorous and prolonged fornication?"

"Water. Lots and lots of water," Booth said, feeling almost faint as her sparkling blue eyes sized him up, full of danger and mischief.

"You go upstairs and change, and I'll bring us two big glasses of cold water. You'll thank me tomorrow."

Brennan eyed him suspiciously.

"And then?"

"And then, if we're both still feeling up to it, then...what you said."

She smiled lopsidedly. "'kay. Don't take too long. I'm feeling incredibly aroused. High sugar content in alcoholic beverages gets released into the bloodstream rather quickly after consumption, giving the drinker a temporary sensation of elation; it would be a pity to let all that energy it's currently generating in my body go to waste. And" she added, fixing him with a look that would have made the Great Wall of China crumble in an instant, "alcohol also lowers inhibitions, making people more adventurous. You like adventure, right Booth?"

_Oh...my...God,_ Booth thought, watching intently as the tops of her breasts rose and fell in front of him with every breath, just barely reigned in by the soft, inviting sweater. Did either of them really need all that water? Then again, Max was definitely somewhere in their house even if he wasn't in the living room, and no way was he going to risk his felon of a father-in-law, known for his fondness of pointy shivs and flaming cadavers, catching him doing _that_ to his daughter.

"Water. Be right there. Promise."

Believing he was temporarily safe as his wife ran up the stairs, Booth walked over to the kitchen and pulled two glasses out of a cabinet. He filled them to the brim at the water dispenser on the fridge, shaking his head disbelievingly at the kind of action he'd just turned down. _Damn_. It had been so tempting-had he had one more drink in him he might have taken her up on her offer. Unzipped that dress none too gently, freed her luscious curves from their tight, cruel confinement, and nailed his wife.

Right there in the open for all the world to see, against their front door.

But not with Max there.

He smiled as he thought of how absurdly lovely she had looked-still looked-tonight. Smiled even more because he knew everyone else at his buddy's New Year's Eve party was silently agreeing with his assessment. And for once, he didn't mind that they were looking. It was New Year's Eve and he was feeling just fine and dandy, thank you very much.

Booth forgot all about the quest for water when his eyes fell on the kitchen counter. He instinctively reached out for several dirty baby bottles, opening them up one by one because if they stayed closed, by morning they'd be absolutely vile.

"Max..." he began, suddenly aware of the giant mess in the kitchen. Food left out, dishes everywhere, and a blackened frying pan that quite possibly not even a brillo pad could revive. _Eh_, _whatever_, he decided, dunking the bottles in warm, soapy water. Max was a big part of his daughter's life, eager-when he was around, which was always a big if-to participate in their new family's life. A few dirty dishes and a whole lot of crumbs were a small inconvenience to put up with in exchange for the sense of normalcy he gave his wife.

And the babysitting was free.

He began placing the rinsed bottles in the drying rack when he felt all those feminine attributes he'd been thinking about just seconds ago press seductively into his back.

Brennan had waited...and waited. But the explosive burst of glucose would not be denied. Finding the tight curve of his ass irresistible, her hands avidly fondled Booth's backside and then slithered around his hips, coming to rest smack on his groin area. She cupped him without an ounce of restraint.

"Wo-wo-kitchen, Bones! Remember, upstairs-where your dad can't walk in on us."

"I'm feeling reckless, Booth," she whined. "Uninhibited, naughty. The upstairs isn't naughty. I want an element of suspense to be part of our liaison tonight." She undid the button on his pants and pulled on the zipper.

Booth refused to budge, if only because he was terrified of what his father-in-law would do with _that _if he accidentally walked in on them. The harassment could last for weeks, if not years. God knows what he'd tell their kids when they got older. _Hey kids, have I got a story for you. There was this one New Year's Eve..._

Uh uh-no way. She could feel him up all she wanted in the privacy of their bedroom.

"Not in the kitchen; what if he gets hungry, or thirsty?"

"We're adults-we're even married, Booth. It's not as if my dad doesn't realize that we have sex. Besides," she went on, sounding slightly more sober, "we both know that objectively, the risk of him catching us is very minimal; it's more of a mental exercise in heightened awareness. It's quite obvious that no one is actually up."

The cupping between his legs intensified when he tried to-gingerly-pry her fingers away from his sensitive nether region. _This won't do_, he realized in a panic; the situation was quickly slipping away from him. Turning around abruptly and catching her off balance, he trapped her wrists in his hand and looked at her with words of censure ready and waiting on his lips.

Big mistake.

Her blue satin robe was hanging precariously off her shoulders exposing a good part of one of her breasts, and her mussed up hair and bedroom eyes finished the job, reeling what was left of him in.

Brennan watched Booth's struggle with a fascinated expression, openly relishing the fact that she could elicit this kind of primitive response in him. That she could do _this_ to him, leave him looking stunned-even with all his famous self-control, his ingrained military discipline, never ceased to amaze her. It was one of the most gratifying feelings in the whole world, messing with him like this, and it made her feel _very_ desirable.

Particularly tonight.

She stood on her toes and kissed him, nibbling on his lower lip, her wrists still trapped in his grip.

"I want you, Booth. Now, here. Please?" she purred.

He cleared his throat, slowly letting her go of hands.

"Um...but it's the kitchen...right by the stairs..."

Brennan finally relented, her wanton desires giving way to the genuine hesitation she saw in his gaze. Taking one of his hands in hers, she settled for pulling her husband blindly around the corner instead.

"What-where are we going?"

"Laundry room. Or are you worried my dad is going to be washing his clothes in the middle of the night? Because _that_ would be ridiculous."

"I don't know...it's right by the living room. It's Max..."

The empty room beckoned and Booth allowed himself to be led in like sheep to the slaughter, still not entirely sure that _any_ of this was a good idea.

As soon as they were inside, Brennan shoved him hard against the washing machine, the light from the kitchen picking up the outline of the rough motion.

"Bones..." he began to lecture, until he was jolted into silence by the feel of his pants and underwear unceremoniously sliding down to his ankles. Unwilling to let her prey escape again, Brennan kneeled in front of him and immediately pulled the robe off her shoulders, certain that the light filtering in would allow him to have as good a view of the proceedings as he needed in order to stay put.

A long, slow, thorough lick from base to tip and the expert suckling that followed shut him up as effectively as a gag.

He almost stopped himself from looking down, afraid of the effect it would have on his anatomy.

Almost.

"God, Bones..."

He saw the gentle swell of her breasts, the soft sheen of her skin, ethereal and glistening in the dark. And maybe he was imagining it because why wouldn't he, but he was also pretty sure he could make out the deep pink halos of her nipples. His erection, pretty monumental already, shot sky-high.

He could probably blame it on already being tipsy, or on the element of recklessness that Bones had alluded to before, but he'd never found the prospect of an upcoming blow job more exhilarating. The most gorgeous, spirited, sexy creature in the world at his feet, servicing him without him even having to ask, right in the comfort of his own home.

As she took him in and swirled her tongue over him, he accepted that he wouldn't be holding out much longer-it'd be impossible. He threw his head back and braced his body up against the washer with the palms of his hands, preparing for the inevitable weakening of the legs that was coming.

That was, until he heard something.

A creak, a bump, whatever it was. The noise pulled him right out of the heady moment and threw him back into the cold, stark reality of their laundry room, with its pungent smell of some organic detergent or other.

He put his hand on her bare shoulder. "Did you hear that?" he whispered.

"Hear what?"

"The noise."

"What noise? You're being paranoid, Booth."

Annoyance at his skittishness rang through the remark.

"There was no noise. At most, it was the sound that results from the natural cooling and contraction of objects after daytime heat has dissipated."

Even after several glasses of champagne, the woman's incredible brain wouldn't stop.

She licked him again, but unfortunately for Booth, the magic had fled, along with several inches of his enthusiasm.

"I...can't, Bones. I can't concentrate."

She sighed as she stood up, dejected that the evening wasn't going as she planned. Maybe Booth was right, and they'd had too much to drink.

"I'm sorry; I really am."

The apology, offered up in such a sincere and woefully pathetic manner, actually made Brennan want to stand her ground and redouble her efforts. Her poor husband had to be suffering way more than she at this point.

"Don't worry, Booth. We can finish in the bedroom if you're uncomfortable. Kiss me first, though. You can do that, right? Just a kiss?"

His relief was palpable as he ran a hand lovingly over her hair.

"Yeah, I can do that." His lips skimmed over her temple, and, following the curve of her cheekbone, finally alit on a corner of her mouth. He kissed her softly at first, then more demandingly as her tongue raced out and wet his lips, and he tasted himself in her probing mouth.

It wasn't supposed to happen, but his fingers somehow wound up kneading one of her still exposed breasts, thumbing the hardened nipple with zeal.

His renewed level of interest was very apparent against her abdomen, and Brennan congratulated herself on her victory as she slid off his shirt and began massaging him right where she surmised he needed it most.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?" he asked, from far away.

She hiked herself up on her toes, bending one knee and pulling up her leg against the washing machine, years of yoga and tai chi put to good use. Her fingers reached for him, guiding him partway inside her. To her surprise, he didn't put up any sort of struggle. In truth, she seriously doubted he was even aware of what was happening, lost as he was in all her ministrations. What she needed right now was a little more by way of assistance from him, and she'd have him in all the way. The intimate, throbbing pressure, incomplete at this point as it was, was impossible to describe; it filled her and stretched her almost to her limits, sending her nerve endings into complete overdrive.

"Hold my leg up higher and push in. I want more-I want all of it."

_God-what the hell am I doing?_ Booth thought groggily, a battery of second-thoughts beginning to make themselves heard over the din of all those incredible sensations. Surely his brain had fled his head and taken a nose-dive straight past his navel._ Laundry room...Max...laundry..._

"Bones..."

"Not now" a determined Brennan warned, cutting him off cold. "Absolutely not."

She scrambled for something different before her husband changed his mind again.

"Can you please describe what you are currently doing, Booth?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"Huh?"

"Right now, what are you doing to me?"

"You know what I'm doing to you, Bones," he replied with a hint of self-consciousness.

"I still want to hear it; I want to hear you describe what you're doing to me. _Explicitly_. In the vernacular," she breathed into his ear.

"Bones..."

"Tell me; I want to hear it" she insisted, switching out casual politeness for an order.

He pulled her leg up and held it against his hip, exactly as she'd asked, and buried himself completely inside her with a determined thrust, throwing all his previous concerns somewhere behind the dryer.

"Tell me," she moaned between soft grunts.

"Fucking you," he whispered, so low she could only guess what he was saying.

"Again. Louder."

"I'm fucking you, Bones. Fucking you" he repeated, losing all sense of shame within her fiery, fluid embrace. Once out, the mantra continued to glide over the tip of his tongue, mumbled against her hair and the nape of her neck, blending seamlessly into their surging bodies. Moments later, he stiffened inside her, his entire body shuddering with pleasure and relief. He touched down with a series of swallowed grunts against her shoulder.

But because _she_ wasn't done, though, he did everything he could to keep them both upright even though his legs were quickly disappearing from under him. He kept bucking into her until he knew for sure from the way she was shaking and mewling in his arms that she'd gotten what she came for.

Brennan's hiked-up leg, now heavy and tired, slid down Booth's until her foot made contact with the icy floor. The rest of her collapsed happily against her husband's bare chest.

"Youre gonna kill me, Bones" he said, finally recovering enough to speak after a long, sweaty interlude in which he held her as close to him as he could for fear of falling down. Hopefully he wasn't accidentally asphyxiating her in the process. "I swear, one of these days, my heart's just going to give out and I'm going to keel over. I can't believe you talked me into this," he said between pants.

She took his head in her hands and saw the faint light from the living room reflected in his sated, drowsy eyes.

"I told you, you're not allowed to die. You promised," came the dead-serious reply. The edge of despair wrapped within it made his heart skip a beat.

He laughed a little, trying to bring back the smile he'd known was on her lips just seconds ago.

"I remember. You're right-never ever gonna happen. Not to either of us, or our kids. Not 'til we're a hundred and twenty, at least. I love you, you know that, right? If I didn't love you this insane amount, I wouldn't have let you drag me into the laundry room with Max in the house."

"Yes" she answered without hesitation, suddenly feeling weepy-and extremely tired. The sugar-high had come-and gone. "And I love you too, Booth. I've never loved anyone this way before; sometimes, I find that I'm overwhelmed by the feeling."

He smiled, squeezing her against him once again-so maybe she didn't need to breathe all that bad.

The unlimited champagne was making her overly-emotional, Brennan decided through the sudden veil of unexplainable tears. She began disentangling herself from her beloved, suddenly fearful that Max might indeed still be up.

"We better get upstairs, before we wake up my dad" she admonished.

"And _now_ you care. Was I talking to myself just a little while ago?" he asked, speaking to an invisible audience. "Here, tie your robe on, just in case. The landing's got a loose board."

He did his part by zipping up his pants, although his shirt remained behind, forgotten on the laundry room floor.

As they were happily skipping up the stairs, Brennan leading the way and Booth right behind her, Max's head suddenly emerged from Parker's room. The smirk on his face was distinctive enough to make his daughter's eyes widen like a great snowy owl's. She turned around and looked down at her partner-currently a hulking, towering, hot, _hot_ mess-with crimson cheeks, and then she let out an embarrassed, adolescent giggle. Holding on to her robe, she tore up the remaining steps, fast as a whirlwind.

"Goodnight, dad, " she muttered as she ran past Max into their bedroom.

_Damn that woman_, Booth thought. She'd had her way with him and now she'd conveniently left him all alone to pay the piper, barefoot, sweaty and shirtless.

"What ya' kids doing?" the older man asked, a sly grin on his face. "Ringing in the New Year with a bang?"

"Laundry," Booth answered lamely.

Max stared at his son-in-law's bare torso.

"Really? Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"Goodnight, Max." The bedroom to Booth and Brennan' door clicked shut, with a decisiveness that made it clear there would be no more late-night conversations tonight.

Alone in the hallway, Max chuckled to himself. All was right in the world, he thought with satisfaction. His daughter was doing what she was supposed to be doing with the man she was supposed to be doing it with. He might be a loving father who occasionally still wanted to think of his daughter as the little girl she'd been, but really, who was he to argue with the beauty of the present?


End file.
